


certainties of life: death and taxes (and my bloodsuckin' baby)

by cloudburst



Series: (dazed and) confused [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F, mentioned ashkande
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: The irrational part of Sombra’s mind that had been repeating over and over again that this wasn’t a date, that the other woman meant to suck her blood or something, told her that it was fate because now she wouldn’t be murdered. That same part was warring with itself: bring her some soup so you can get into her apartment while she’s weak from not sucking blood or whatever.AKA: Sombra thinks her hot, new neighbor is a vampire. Sombra knows what she's talking about, she swears.
Relationships: Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Series: (dazed and) confused [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180517
Comments: 13
Kudos: 25





	certainties of life: death and taxes (and my bloodsuckin' baby)

**Author's Note:**

> lmao????

There are two things that most people know about Sombra. The first is that she’s brilliant but has some tendencies to believe in things other might call mythical or otherworldly. It’s all a result of that mythology course she took in college when she was working toward her computer science degree, and really, that shit stuck with her more than it should have – talk about vampires and werewolves and the fae, that they must have been based on _something._ Her best friend laughs at her, but honestly he doesn’t know _shit –_ professional athletes and their skewed world view or something.

The second is that Sombra’s lived in the same apartment building for years – keeps telling herself she’s going to find a new place, maybe move in with Akande, that aforementioned athlete, until she nabs a better lease. The thing is, though, it’s cheap and it’s near to the office building she works in. And the landlord’s wifi password is just Password1, so that’s another bonus. As long as she lives here, she gets by playing shitty MMOs without paying for internet, without paying for her own Netflix. This is something she leeches off Akande, her name being the whole “Parasite 1” meme.

Most of the time she’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean it.

She flops down onto her bed with her phone at her ear, testing this theory – testing the extent of their friendship. He really is her best friend.

“Dude, I think my air conditioner is broken.”

Akande hums on the other end of the line. “This sounds like something you should ask your landlord to fix, you know. This isn’t something you should be calling me about unless you want me to do the job. In that case, you know I can’t. That’s a skill I just don’t have.”

Sombra decides to reward him with a laugh for that, even though she shouldn’t. He’s absolutely not funny.

“No, I just want to whine to you. Let me complain or I’ll come over to your house and make a mess of your living room.”

Akande splutters. “No, no. Ashe is still mad at you for the wine you spilled on the couch. It’s _white_ , Sombra.”

She rolls onto her stomach, biting her bottom lip as a small laugh escapes. One of the only things that really flusters Akande is that girl he met at the country club. And Sombra supposes she should stop calling Ashe some girl considering they’re engaged, and she’s going to be with her friend presumably forever, and she’s probably actually one of Ashe’s best friends, but she just loves to antagonize and that will never stop.

“Not my fault Ashe has awful taste in furniture. Not my fault you deemed it safe enough to hand me the glass of fifty-year-old red wine on your _white couch_.”

Akande decides he’s done speaking to her. Sombra can almost feel him rolling his eyes from the other end of the line.

“Call the landlord, Sombra, or I end you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

The line goes dead, and she calls the landlord. It should be fixed by the end of the week she tells Sombra, but it’s a fucking Monday. It’s also a million degrees outside and that’s no good at all, so Sombra walks over to the window at the front of her apartment – the one that’s by her door and opens to the landing.

She’s about to go back to her bedroom to log on for some _intense gaming_ , which is actually just code for _play sadly by myself until Akande logs on in like four hours_ , but she hears something like a crashing noise, and then another something which sounds oddly like someone is cursing in French. She walks to the front of her apartment and looks out the window, unsure of what she’s expecting. She doesn’t think in her wildest dreams it was the woman wearing a black turtleneck in the summer, dropping a box of what Sombra thinks are books.

Her mouth moves faster than her mind sometimes. If she’d thought about it before, she might have tried to come across as someone smoother – someone worth this woman’s time. _Fuck that_ , she thinks. _I’m worth anyone’s time. I’m a fucking ace._

Akande tells her all the time she’s the whole package, offering her hand a tight squeeze when she’s a little too wine-drunk and lonely. He tells her she’s got a heart of gold and a mind that could make any woman fall in love, while simultaneously wanting to strangle her. Sombra thinks it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her – tucks it away for when she might need it, like now, with a beautiful woman staring back as she has no plan.

“What?” The woman asks. It seems like she’s forgotten about her books for the moment, straightening up a bit from the beginning of her motion to grab them. “I am afraid I missed it.”

She’s got an accent, and Sombra thinks that’s cute. Sombra definitely doesn’t let it make her even more flustered. “I asked if you uh – needed help? Are you moving in?”

“Yes,” the woman answers, tilting her head as she considers Sombra and the apartment behind her. “The apartment right above yours actually.”

Sombra does the only thing she knows how in a situation like this: offers a dazzling smile and hopes she’s charming. The way the woman laughs makes Sombra confused, but also maybe makes her think she succeeded.

“And that was a yes to both questions, by the way. I’m Amélie.”

Sombra is a bit perplexed; she’d forgotten what she asked until _Amélie_ bends down to pick up her long-forgotten, fallen books. Sombra almost shrieks.

“I’ve got it!”

At the nod she receives, Sombra picks them up and begins the ascent to the apartment above hers. The rusted stairs creak beneath her feet as Amélie says she’s only got one more box at the bottom of the first flight – that Sombra can put the books down outside of her door. After Sombra does this she’s not entirely sure what to do, deciding to wait outside her new neighbor’s door until the last box has reached its destination. There had apparently been a pair of ballet shoes with the books, which was something Sombra noticed as she knocked them off while sitting the box down in front of the door as requested.

“Thank you so much for your help…” And Amélie frowns, looking at Sombra almost expectantly where she stands on the landing. Sombra is not sure why, just knows she doesn’t want her to keep looking at her like that until the woman says, “You never told me your name.”

It’s the second time that day Sombra has raised her voice maybe a little too much, tone just a bit too high. “Sombra!”

“Well, thank you, Sombra. Can I invite you in for some tea?”

Sombra hates tea. She also doesn’t want to make an even bigger fool of herself.

“No, thank you. And, uh, any time neighbor. See you around.” Sombra offers Amélie a smile with an uncoordinated nod.

She thinks she walks away but it was probably more like a sprint; her heart is beating a little too fast when she gets back into her apartment, leaning against the door. The window is still open but now she’s twice as warm, and resolves for the second time that day to call Akande.

“You think she’s _what?_ ” Akande sounds a little shocked at her stupidity, and that should be a sign that Sombra is going down a dark path with no return – a path where even her best friend is going to tell her she’s gotta find a place within and retreat to it before spiraling further.

“She’s like a fuckin’ vampire or something, dude. I never see her during the day – and sure she’s French, not Italian but that shit is still Europe, okay – and I heard her talking about bloodsuckers.”

Akande actually laughs at her. Sombra can picture him doubled over. He could have her on speaker; Ashe could also be judging her. Sombra really doesn’t give a fuck, even as she realizes this is the case.

“Sombra, _sweetie,_ ” the drawl drips across the phone. “There are so many counters to the lil’ things you just said.”

Sombra wants to bite her, and not in a sexy way. Akande cuts her off anyways, so it’s fine. But he still continues Ashe’s line of thought, Sombra shifting in her gaming chair at her desk as she presses the phone closer to her ear.

“Ashe is right, you know?” Sombra groans but her friend continues all the same, ignoring her. “The whole day thing, didn’t she move in during the day? And wouldn’t that mean all Europeans are vampires, if that’s like your only criteria?”

Sombra nods before realizing that Akande can’t see her.

“Maybe they are, though. I’ve never been to Europe. And Twilight exists, Akande. You know my thing – everything has gotta be based on something, so where the _fuck_ did that woman come up with sparkly vamps?” She knows she’s being ridiculous – knows she should stop while she’s ahead and let Ashe and Akande get back to whatever it is they do on Friday nights. She doesn’t even know if she believes the things she’s saying, but realizes she kinda does the further she goes.

And it’s been over a week since she called the landlord – week and a half actually, and her window is closed to keep her cool air in, but she still watches sometimes, waits for Amélie to walk by: has waved through her window to the darkness of the outside as she does.

“Okay, Sombra. And the bloodsucker thing. Maybe she works in an office. I call you a leech that doesn’t make me a medieval doctor trying to suck out your bad humor. Also, Twilight is bad.”

Sombra swears she hears Ashe telling Akande to shut up, that he loves Twilight, and that Edward Cullen is dreamier than him. That pulls a laugh from Sombra as she spins in her chair.

“You’re right. Of course you are. I’ve got to stop being weird.”

Before Akande can hang up, another voice cuts across the line. “I’m thinkin’ you’re nervous because you got a little crush.”

Sombra shakes her head. Once again, the person on the other end cannot see her but she does it all the same. Her words come out in a rush so neither of them can really process what she says, neither of them can get upset before she hangs up.

“ _NooneaskedAsheGoodnighttoyoubothIloveoyoubye._ ” And that’s that.

It isn’t until later that evening when she hears Amélie walking around in the apartment above her that she begins thinking again; it isn’t until she hears a scream, and a heavy thump that Sombra puts any _more_ weight into the fact that her new neighbor is anything other than human. There’s also no other explanation for that noise other than Amélie having sucked someone’s blood and dropped their body on the floor of her apartment though. _That’s literally what all logic points to_ , she thinks. Sombra can’t help that she’s a genius; a computer science degree and spending hours per day in front of a computer will do that to anyone.

She briefly considers going up to Amélie’s apartment, asking if she’s okay if only to catch her in the act of murdering someone. But that, well that makes Sombra a tad bit afraid of being taken by the woman herself, and while Sombra might not mind that in _other ways_ her minds supplies, violent screams and thumping are not really her cup of tea. _And again, she doesn’t even like tea._

So, she gets in bed, when it’s finally time – when the sun has been set for way too long and she should’ve been asleep ages ago – and thinks about how her new neighbor is definitely not a vampire.

Except that she kind of is.

“She doesn’t like _garlic_ , Akande. I offered her some food and she wouldn’t take it – specifically said she can’t have garlic. What the fuck is that?”

Akande groans on the other end of the line. It’s not like they didn’t see each other earlier, not like they’re re-talking about all of this just because Sombra had a thirty second encounter with Amélie at Sombra’s open window. It went something like this:

“Hey, neighbor!” Sombra cringed at herself.

“Oh, Sombra.” Amélie stopped by the open window, smiling at her. Sombra could have melted. Spoke faster so the other woman wouldn’t. Plus, she was carrying grocery bags – and yes it was dark outside. _Vampire._ “How are you?”

“Good, good. Listen, want some food?”

Her neighbor seemed to consider for a moment before the smell of the beef Sombra had been cooking hit her. “Sorry, I’m allergic to garlic. Maybe next time, though!” The other woman had seemed almost excited as she continued. “Maybe you could come up to mine and I’ll cook for you?”

And as she tells Akande, that is how she had accidentally agreed to meet a vampire for dinner on Sunday night.

“It all happened so fast!”

He just laughs at her again, humming into the other end of the line. Sombra thinks he’s probably shaking his head at her.

And because of this conversation with Akande, and because of her suspicions that Amélie is a vampire – albeit a beautiful one – Sombra tells herself she’s not disappointed when she gets a call from the woman herself that she’s not feeling too well, that she needs to cancel their dinner.

The irrational part of Sombra’s mind that had been repeating over and over again that this wasn’t a date, that the other woman meant to suck her blood or something, told her that it was fate because now she wouldn’t be murdered. That same part was warring with itself: _bring her some soup so you can get into her apartment while she’s weak from not sucking blood or whatever._ The nicer, other part of Sombra’s brain says: _You and Akande both discussed how this was probably a date. She is like – at least vertically, ten feet away from you. Be kind._

In the end, both parts win out because both sort of had the same goal: soup for apartment.

Sombra hopes that Amélie doesn’t know everything about soup, because what she does next is probably a little shameful. She’s going to tell Amélie that this shit is homemade, really do it up. The reality of it is that she’s heating up Campbell’s in her microwave and transferring it to a Tupperware container. _We’re not all perfect,_ she tells herself. She hears Ashe’s voice saying _Don’t I know it_ after Sombra had spilled the wine on Ashekande’s ( _gag)_ couch.

Amélie answers the door, and she looks cold – her fingers blue and her skin paler than it had been before.

“Sombra?” She sniffles. “I thought I called you. I’m so sorry, I…”

Before she can continue, Sombra cuts her off, gesturing to the soup with her head.

“No, no. You did. I figured you might want some soup I made. For you.” Sombra is maybe a little embarrassed by her lie when she’s let in with the widest smile Amélie can manage.

Amélie’s accent falls heavy on her words as she mumbles that Sombra is so cute, so sweet. She’s bundled up with blankets around her shoulders as she walks back to her sofa. Sombra is glancing around, taking in everything – but it just looks like a normal apartment. There are no teeth marks in walls, nothing that looks like the door to a secret den where she would hide her vampire victims.

So Sombra decides that it’s actually safe to sit next to her neighbor on the couch, the one she realizes she’s known for almost a month now – has pleasant conversations with a few times a week: the one she was maybe supposed to be on a date with tonight. She thinks that none of that matters as she hands over the Tupperware container. Between the two of them being seated and Sombra walking in the door, Amélie must have grabbed a spoon because she starts eating immediately.

“This is so good. Thank you for bringing this to me.”

Sombra laughs nervously. Hopefully she isn’t asked to make soup again in the future.

“No problem.”

They watch the movie that she’d had on before Sombra’s arrival in relative silence, Sombra getting more comfortable as she sinks into the couch – neighbor finishing her soup and placing it on the coffee table in front of her.

“Thank you for coming,” and it’s almost a whisper but not quite. Sombra isn’t quite sure what to do with it but she nods her head, noticing that she’s gravitating towards the vampire, moving into space that really isn’t her own.

“No problem. I was maybe a little sad to not see you tonight.”

Amélie sniffles before laughing a little bit, she seems to retreat further into her blanket to warm herself – but doesn’t do the same, retreat that is, from Sombra.

“I’ve just got a cold, but I didn’t want our first date to be marred by that experience.”

And Sombra’s brain short circuits at that confirmation, so she doesn’t say anything for a moment. Amélie seems to take this wrong.  
  


“Oh my god,” she sniffles. “Unless it wasn’t a date and you were just being nice by agreeing, or you’re like not even gay, or…” She trails off, unsure of where to go. Sombra shakes her head quickly in an attempt to alleviate some of the panic spreading across Amélie’s face.

“No, I thought it was! That’s why I brought the soup.” She smiles at her neighbor – so nervous, but so hopeful that this beautiful woman can’t see through her, see how _weird_ her thoughts have been.

“Ah, you cooked for me instead.” Amélie hums. “I’d hoped to be the one doing the wooing, cooking you some French cuisine and then dancing for you. People have told me they fall in love watching me dance.” Sombra thinks her neighbor means to laugh, but she sneezes instead. And _wait – dance? Love? Bro? God? You there?_

Sombra splutters. “Dance?” Her mind is spinning – reeling. She’s gone. Her neighbor is sick, and she’s on a date, and Sombra is dying.

Amélie looks at her with the blankets pulled up around her shoulders. “Surely you’ve heard me doing ballet above you? I felt so bad,” a sniffle. “Just last week my friend Angela fell down and screamed. I swear.”

Sombra’s mouth forms an _O._ She had heard, but maybe she had assumed that was her date bleeding someone dry. She’ll never tell.

“Anyways, you should probably leave so you don’t get sick. I think it’s just a cold but you can never be too sure.”

Sombra looks at her a moment.

“What if I _want_ to get sick?”

That’s how she finds herself a week later lying in bed with a cold that feels like more than that, and on the phone with Akande who is just still laughing at her – has been since the beginning, but most definitely is now.

“So, my girlfriend is not a vampire. She’s a corporate tax attorney.”

Akande can’t stop. “Oh,” he wheezes. “So she’s a bloodsucker, just the got my JD and now I’m smarmy kind.”

Sombra is offended on Amélie’s behalf. Oh, how the tables have turned. You tell your best friend that someone is a vampire and suddenly you’re the bad guy, but when you tell him your girlfriend is a tax attorney, and suddenly, she’s capitalism incarnate? Akande is rich, for Christ’s sake.

“Hey,” Sombra sneezes. “She’s a _lawyer._ That’s perfectly respectable. And I still believe in vampires, just so you know. Amélie just happens to not be one.”

“Okay, assuming everything you said is correct – why did you make out with her while she was sick again?”

Sombra huffs. She thinks it was meant to be a laugh.

“I had to make sure she wasn’t a vampire before our second date or whatever. Maybe. Actually, she’s just cute and I wanted to.”

From the apartment above, Amélie smiles.


End file.
